Two Weeks' Notice

that—never—but I just couldn’t stop it.”

“I know,” Bryn said, and put a hand on her sister’s cheek. She felt warm, soft, alive. “It wasn’t your fault, none of it. It never was. And we’re fine. The important thing is to make sure you’re fine.”

“I think I am,” Annie said, but she looked deeply uncertain. “Maybe you should keep these things on for a while longer. I mean, I didn’t know. I didn’t feel that I was going to do anything, but I heard your friend leave the hall and it was like I couldn’t stop myself. I got up, got the knife, and just—I was a passenger, Bryn. I couldn’t stop.” She started breathing harder, and Bryn took her hand and held it. Annie squeezed hard. “I hate this—I hate it. I just want it to go away. You know? All of it. I want to go home and I want to go back to my stupid bar job and…I want to see Mom!” That last came out as a wail, and Bryn felt her heart break, again. Annie’s tears were overflowing now, running down into her tangled hair. She yanked against the restraints a little, but more in frustration than any desire to get free, Bryn thought. “Can I see her? Can you ask her to come, at least? To take care of me?”

No, Bryn thought, appalled. The last thing she wanted was more of her family involved in this…horror that had taken her sister. And her. “Maybe,” she lied. “Calm down, Annie. What Liam’s been giving you is making it better. You’re in control now. You’re back to being you.”

“Yeah?” Her sister’s mouth set in a bitter little line, very not the Annie Bryn remembered. “The loser sib who couldn’t figure out how to balance a checkbook? Not much of an upgrade from crazy woman with a knife, is it?”

“Annie!”

“I know, self-pity isn’t my most attractive look, right? But Jesus Christ, Bryn, I was murdered! And they…they…” Annie’s gaze wandered, and Bryn saw the horror of the last few months come rushing back. “…did things to me.”

Liam was still in his chair, and Bryn sent him a quick look. He said, very quietly, “Shall I go downstairs? Perhaps fix a small meal for us all?”

“Thank you,” she said. “I think she needs something in her stomach, and I’m—” Starving, she realized with a jolt of surprise. “—ready for dinner, too. Liam—thanks for staying with her. Keeping her safe.”

He favored them both with a warm smile as he stood. “She’s a lovely girl. And you, Annalie, were very wise in your choice of sisters, I think.”

After Liam was gone, Annie was quiet. Bryn stroked her hair gently, and finally said, “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“No,” Annie said, with unexpected force. “No, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to remember. So let’s just…drop that, okay? Cut, print, move on. Damn it. Can you—uh— wipe my eyes or something? Damn, I think I need to pee, too. Man.”

For an answer, Bryn yanked the Velcro off her left wrist and put a tissue in her hand. Annie raised her arm and stared at it, as if not quite sure what it was (or, more likely, what it would do), then dabbed at her eyes with the tissue, blew her nose, and sighed. “Oh God, it’s ridiculous how good that feels. I didn’t realize how tiring it was to be in the same position all the time.”

“Feel any impulse to throttle me with your free hand?” Bryn asked.

“Only a little,” Annie said, “which, considering we’re sisters, is probably normal.”

Probably. Bryn studied her for a few seconds longer, then undid the rest of the restraints. “Hey!” Annie said, and sat up. “Are you supposed to do that? I mean, now? Ow, I’m still wearing IVs. Can I take these out?”

“No,” Bryn said. “But you can roll them with you to the bathroom, unless you have a real liking for bedpans.”

“Do you have to empty it when I’m done?”

“Not a chance, sweetie. I don’t love you that much.”

Annie’s smile was almost like her old one. “You were in the running for best sister ever, but now you’re back to, you know, just best in the room.”

“Except you?”

“So far, you haven’t tried to stab me, so I think you’re one up on me right now.” Annie swung her legs over the side of the bed and groaned. “Ow. Sore. A little help?”

Bryn supported her and eased her to a standing position, and rolled the IV stand over so Annie could hold on to it. “Better?”

“In one way. In another, now I really have to pee, now that it’s actually possible to do it.”

“In there.” Bryn walked her to the bathroom door and shut it behind her. As she waited, she looked down at her suit—grimy now with her twisting and wriggling around on the pavement underneath the limo—and remembered that she’d been on her way to change, again. How many outfits had she ruined today?

Well, she couldn’t change now until Liam came back to supervise Annie; she might trust her sister again, a little, but not enough to let her roam around the house without oversight. If her Protocols weren’t completely deactivated, she might choose the moment Bryn was cleaning up to reenact the shower scene from Psycho, and that wouldn’t do anyone any good. Least of all the shower curtain.

Annie came out a few minutes later, looking almost herself again. She’d even taken a moment to brush her hair, which fell in bouncy, ridiculously shiny curls halfway to her waist. It still looked thinner than before, but it’d fill out. “Okay, warden, I’m done.”

“Good. Back in bed.”

“Seriously?”

“Just for a few minutes,” Bryn said. “I’ll come back to get you.”

She fastened the Velcro around Annie’s wrists, ankles, chest, waist, and thighs, feeling stupid as she did so. Annie took it without any snarky commentary, which was nice, if unusual. “I’m sorry,” Bryn said, smoothing the last fastener in place. “I’ll be back for you soon. Tomorrow you won’t need these at all.”

“No hurry,” Annie said. “I’m not going anywhere.” She sighed, wriggled a bit, and closed her eyes. Mr. French, who’d been following the two of them around with anxious concentration, trotted after Bryn as she went next door. After a moment of consideration, she locked the door, then started stripping off the old, stained clothes. At this rate, she thought, I’ll have to buy a whole new wardrobe every month. Well, at least it wasn’t a depressing idea for a change. New clothes were always cheerful.

A fast, hot shower made her feel brand-new, and Bryn toweled off and dressed from the skin up again.…After consideration, she went for the best underwear she had, lacy and flirty, and over that, in compensation, a plain pair of jeans and matte jersey shirt. Comfortable. Not seductive. Overtly, anyway. Mr. French decided not to follow her after that; he curled up in his dog bed and put his head down, evidently worn-out by the day’s trials. She shook her head and left him there as she checked on Annie.

She wasn’t there.

Bryn did a fast, alarmed check of the room: no sign of Annie hiding in the closet with a butcher knife or lurking in the bathroom or under the bed.

Pat.

Bryn dashed back in her room, grabbed the handgun she kept in the nightstand, and raced out again. That got Mr. French up and running at her heels; he seemed to think it was a fun chase game meant just for him, and he almost tripped her up as she took the steps at a terrifying pace…

And almost ran straight into Patrick as he rounded the corner at the bottom. He took a step back, and she did, too, almost knocking herself over as her heels encountered the stair riser. Pat’s gaze fell to the gun in her hand. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought you—” Bryn took a deep breath and didn’t try to holster the gun. “Annie’s not in her bed.”

“I let her loose,” Patrick said. “And before you tell me I’m taking a risk, I tested her before I released her completely. She’s doing fine, and Liam’s keeping a sharp eye on her. I don’t think she’s liable to come after me at the table with a butter knife, but if she does, I assume you’ll…shoot.”